"frig" poems
A paper with ink that every student hates to do
It’s so annoying when you cant get it
because the teacher didn’t explain to you how to do it so you don’t get it,
but the smart girl in your class said every one gets it,
so the teacher shuts up, but on the inside you want to turn around and scream
“No ones as smart as you!”
but you don’t because you don’t want to be a bother,
but as you sit in your bed you think what the frig
I should have asked,
but in stead of doing my homework I go on something called Facebook
where everyone writes about other people and there problems there having
that no one in the world seriously cares about
so you scroll till you see a fight that is pretty pointless,
but you still get the popcorn and read everything they said
because its better then doing any thing else,
but you see that girl that deals with anorexia
and start to think why does she do that to herself she’s skinny,
I know the mirror can be cruel sometimes,
but she’s beautiful,
she may look unhealthy
and in science instead of looking at the skeleton you look at her
because you can see every bone in her body
because the words people say affected her,
she was healthy,
but people think you need to be **** perfect to be friends or just for them to like you, so she carries this thing that eats her on the inside in pain
with the words that are whispering in the halls,
but then she has that one friend that doesn’t help
she’s to busy wishing for selfish things and too blind to see her friend is dying in front of her,
but instead of saving her she’s wishing for everything
like that new car
and losing weight
and her hair to be longer
and what outfit she’s going to wear tomorrow to impress that guy she has a crush on
and the girl thats been neglected by everyone and everything next to her in the mirror hearing her rant on and on about this she’s wishing I want to be like her,
I want someone to love me like that,
I want friends she always says
I want and I bet it’s the girl in the back of the classroom,
that shy one that sits alone at lunch time
looking around hoping someone will come sit with her
and want to be friends
but it doesn’t happen because everyones too selfish in there own worries and problem to notice their fellow classmates could be crying out for help in front of you but you don’t care because your stuff is to important to help someone else.
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 11:24 AM UTC
I wander no longer
I prefer to wait at my master’s chamber
To eat
To drink
To talk of love
He flames my heart
With desire
Never felt before
Enthralled and awestruck
I lose my senses
In
His love
All night long
I am consumed
In a hot passion
Don’t ask!
I don’t
Know
We ever sleep or endlessly frig
Can I even count?
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 2:10 AM UTC
My doors are always open, they swing both ways.
You can come in and be welcomed, leave just the same.
There is always some food in the frig,
the cabinet is usually stocked.
You won't find anything fancy but if you're hungry, it will hit the spot.
There are two stacks of fire wood, in case you're here when it's cold.
One is for a quick fire, the other for all night long.
Upstairs is the extra bed, clean towels too , on shelves,
extra razor in the drawer, case you need to shave yourself.
Now the beer is in the bottom drawer of the frig out in the shop,
yes there is a bottle behind the toolbox, case you needing a shot.
I really only got a few rules , most folks have heard before.
Take what you need, leave what aint yours.
Help with the chores if you get a chance,
clean up behind yourself.
When the time comes at you again, help those that caint help themselves. Welcome.
Apr 1, 2012
Apr 1, 2012 at 11:10 AM UTC
You hit. A flopped an fit lien to then bgs. .,. S€€
You knew. That wingding sis my tots fav font you know this
,,.h so you're is Tia dim a frog
And this frig lies till I lie in ab oboe
I'm a g I'm. P and and op g
So I'd you want to fight me I just might *** Yee
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 3:55 PM UTC
There comes the disbelief
and the day
when a daughter comes to tell
the matter
And she knows you can't help
She knows there's no way
to convince
that afternoon to think about it....
No way to stop the fire in the leaves
of the driest April in twenty years
as it blackens the acres
and blurs the eyes
to all but its own emergency
Before it
the hay of last year's weeds
and all those buds that hope conceives
the flight of all that lives...
The plight before...
...The fire-line...
forces every hand
to the pure product of heat and light--
then to ash
and not to ask "This once was living?"
A senior class wrote their friend good-byes
...could not bring herself to...
...bring herself there....
She had to bring the mourning home
to make alive
to raise the sun--
"He slammed the medicine chest
And saw....
walked through the kitchen
opened the frig for the zillionth time...
Then walked a mile
in the woods behind his house."
Warm for April
short-sleeve warm
"...And I keep thinking
how the sun must've felt on his face and arms
He must've been swinging the jug
and--
WHAT WAS HE THINKING?
They found the empty amber
a hundred yards behind....
I keep seein' 'im put the handful to 'is mouth...
...Then the jug...
He must've had to swallow hard
They say you could tell
...where he stumbled...
...by the leaves...
...found 'im on 'is side with the jug
...just beyond 'is hand...
Oh Ma!
I CAN'T! I CAN'T!"
...So I--
"Maybe he was mouthing the words to a song.
...anyway the birds went on
and he was still warmed by the April sun
when they found him."
Apr 28, 2018
Apr 28, 2018 at 3:28 PM UTC
She takes
more than her share
consuming what is hers and
a little of everyone else.
An inconsiderate roommate
of the seasons
devouring the contents
in the frig
and beginning to work on
the boxes marked "Spring".
Like us,
they hate her and dream
of ways to evict the trespasser
but she has no pride or
modicum of fair play.
And we know
when she
with diva flair
finally blusters away
we'll be raggedly left
paying the debt.
Mar 7, 2014
Mar 7, 2014 at 12:18 AM UTC
Storms never bothered me as a child.
I use to love to put on my bathing suit,
barefoot, and jump in all those puddles...
Mom would make me come in if it was lightning.
But with lightning came thunder,
so I would run inside at the first crack.
My mom use to tell me that it was
the Angels bowling.
I'm sure every mother told there kid that.
I know I did...
I loved storms when we were out to our cottage.
Because the waves were raging, and I remember
standing outside with my dad and all the
neighbor guys, discussing this storm. With
a beer in there hand. I never had fear back then.
When my kids were little and a storm was a brewing.
We lived in a duplex, with no basement and
we would take the kids, and our bird down
to our neighbors basement.... I still wasn't
afraid of storms... the kids, and parents we all
played pool, some dance...it was like a party...no fear...
Now, I live by the weather mans report.
I have a program from each tv station on my phone,
and the weather station, even an app for tornados.
But it's not fun any more... I don't go run in the rain
barefoot, or jump in puddles, but I try to keep a bottle
of wine in the frig, a snack or two, and set stuff up
in the bathroom for two....me and my dog buddy.
I'm in the tub, he curls around the toilet...
no fear... well maybe a little bit...
by ~ judy
Apr 22, 2014
Apr 22, 2014 at 11:17 AM UTC
there's one date I don't freaking celebrate
and even sort of hate
to perceive a certain day of a certain month
every year as a birthday?
frig it, no **** way; there is only one
such day, & mine is a lot behind
that date is just a bitter reminder, do not be blind
with every next year after an actual birthday
it's more & more just a "becoming old" day
that's to keep in mind
you, of course, are free to treat these lines
as some pessimistic whine
but don't think that thinking the way I do isn't right
as it isn't about "right/not right"
it's about point of view
after all, you have your own, don't you?
Nov 1, 2019
Nov 1, 2019 at 12:15 AM UTC
I'm following the red pig
ziggety zag
i can smell her blood **** & ***
whipped and wet
thick as jelly
bouncy bouncy
belly gut trampoline
oodles up **** hole bazooka
her mind lavishly corrupt
nothing pained her but emptiness
her soul a poem of lust's dissolution
so give it
my red hot pig *****
gag hag
**** bag
valedictorian of kisses
i love the sweat wet
cascading dark waters
that run so raw
your lunch the history
of projectile salad and pizza
over glistening ***** and thighs
the ********* knows
pain is not punishment
but pleasure
spawned by unfulfilled intentions
i like it when you close your eyes
you appear so blameless
i pray looking up to your ******
that yields its delicate shade of feeling
like a bomb
blinkity blink puddle and squeeze
come my love for a frantic ****
and flapping jowls
on the frig of treasure
in the land of dungeons and ******
i bay at your ankles for attention
and a toe to kiss
many wish they lived here
especially the love sick
from whom all is withheld
i know i owe you tenderness
meet you in the bathroom
for a midnight date
where gawking tongues putter
inhaling White Widow Cheese
bound in straps and wide
for a lady business nose dive
neck bone lassoed
mouth gaping
like a twisted black coat hanger
shes out of her rolling marbles
ready to ****
boogie woogie raw
in broken maiden paradise
lovely beast of submission
she wobbles
dead cat bounce
Oct 15, 2020
Oct 15, 2020 at 12:06 PM UTC
Time goes by swiftly
but I remember it well...
For daddy would walk down
with a fun tale to tell...
I WONDER WHAT TALE MY DAD WOULD TELL NOW. DAD WAS A DEMOCRAT, MOM A REPUBLICAN. I NEVER REMEMBER HEARING THEM TALK POLITICS. I REMEMBER THINKING, I HOPE DAD WINS CAUSE JFK IS CUTE...OMG!
I would put on the coffee
and we would sit out back...
At the table he made us
for enjoying our snacks...
WHAT WOULD DAD THINK ABOUT SO MANY COFFEE FLAVORS, AND SO SO MANY DIFFERENT BEERS. I KNOW HE WOULD SHAKE HIS HEAD IF HE KNEW I HAD FATHEAD BUMBLEBERRY BEER IN MY FRIG.
Now daddy and hubby
are no longer around...
But I think of them daily
I can almost hear the sound...
Of them laughing and talking
I wish they were still around...
ONCE I WAS YOUNG AND BEING A MOM , POLITICS WAS THE FARTHEST THING FROM MY MIND. NEVER HAD TELEVISION ON EXCEPT MAYBE CAPTAIN KANGAROO OR BARNEY FOR THE KIDS.
Remember time goes by swiftly
take time to play...
Enjoying each other
and each and every day...
IT'S A NEW TIME IN LIFE, AND IF YOUR LUCKY LIFE GOES ON. WE AS AMERICANS HAVE TO STICK TOGETHER AND THINK POSITIVE. NO MATTER IF YOUR RED OR BLUE SUPPORT YOUR NEW PRESIDENT.
Jan 19, 2017
Jan 19, 2017 at 8:40 AM UTC
A protest song inspired by sjr1000
Frig & Frack dance a dance
To see who is astute
They run an oil rag up a pole
To see who will salute
Nobody seems to see it
They just watch TV
Corporate's just overjoyed!
They can dance for FREE!
They just quash the media
Build gas-guzzling trucks
People purchase in their millions
So Frig & Frack make BUCKS!
Nobody seems to wonder
Why water tastes so funny
Why their kids have cancer
Why... Big Oil's makin' MONEY!
Yeah... nobody seems to care a fig
Most people aren't that hyper
Now Corporate can laugh and jig...
...*and we all Pay the Piper!*
SoulSurvivor
(C) 1/16/2017
Jan 16, 2017
Jan 16, 2017 at 6:11 PM UTC
Tuesday Weld was a frigger
She was friggin' everywhere and
Everywhere she went, she frigged
As a matter of fact
There wasn't a day that went by
In which Tuesday wouldn't frig
She frigged at the supermarket
She would frig at the mall
She frigged at the movies
She frigged at the gas-pump
She was caught frigging at the dentist
She even frigged down the shore
All her twenty-seven siblings
Worked the local house of ill-repute
It had a bar inside of it
And was Whorethorne's best kept secret
Even the police would get laid there (on Tuesdays)
Finally, the townspeople of Whorethorne
Could not take it anymore
And they burnt down The Barn
Then, just like Tuesday
They too
Went frigging nuts
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 11:58 AM UTC
They try to ****** you,
reduce you
to quivering mountains of jelly.
(well we won't have that,will we?)
While we're picking up dog ends
looking up our rear ends
they're
sending their sprogs off to Harrow and Eton
making more running dogs,
they think that we're beaten.
On the street where I live,half
of the residents don't live at all,
they vegetate,
a form of somnambulism,
some kind of mistake because the other half
don't give a frig,
this is the gig,this is the play
if you're happy or not they don't care,anyway,
they won't ****** me,
I am cardboard citizen and free,
under the rainbow and off the grid,
still got to bid on a house or a flat
and that's the way of it.
You try and you think that you're free but
you're numbered and name tagged and put in the queue
and all you can do then
is dream of a time when
freedom means freedom and not
medieval serfdom.
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 8:11 AM UTC
A dream of pitched skies.
My complexion illumined,
By nocturnal radiance of gloom,
Shined steel rays from the moon.
Creeping coastal winds on my right.
Frothing waves approaching my skin,
Sand constricting my flesh like pins,
Doomed to deep rapture, I could not win.
The shores of scorching Tripoli sands.
With Arabic fire potent of golden alchemy,
Above burning desert, under molten sea,
Lies Ottoman provinces, drowned at scree.
Were I to become a victim of Siren's call?
To sink without ship or a captain's crest,
Was a fleeting frig sailing to sea-change, lest
I collapse bellowing into Mother Earth's breast.
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 8:28 PM UTC
Ronnie is that you?
Can you hear me Ronnie?
I know somehow you can
I feel you next to me
I feel your arms around me
I know you hear me.
They all think I'm crazy Ronnie
They hear me talk to you
I hear them talk about me
No one knows what to say
I cry and scream
Sometimes I go into the closet and put on your clothes
I still have your razor
Your shoes are still on the rack
Dinner is still in the frig
The dishes never got washed
I have not combed my hair in a couple of days
I think I showered, I don't know
I don't leave the house
Sometimes I get up and think I can do it
But I can't, I just can't
When does the pain go away Ronnie?
When do I stop crying for you Ronnie?
Our friends stopped coming over
The neighbors don't make eye contact
Those calls to check on me stopped
I got another box today
Your unit packed it up
It was stamped with big Red letters "Deceased"
They all said that Ronnie
It was like the news was not bad enough
Now, I had to have a final reminder that you are gone
I finally opened the box Ronnie
I found a list
It was a list of things you were going to get me for my Birthday
And the last thing was
Don't forget to tell her that I Love her everyday.
You never had to tell me Ronnie, I always knew.
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 11:06 PM UTC
Buried alive in a worm box
As he smuggle stood on top
***** I'm burying you alive"
"No one will hear your cries"
The worms wiggled around behind my back
I struggled there in the pitch black
The smell of freash earth was so overpowering
And on top he just stood up there towering
I clawed at the lid
Of that old frig
But he was to heavy it did not give
My oxygen was soon depleted
I knew then I was defeated
Buried alive in a worm box
Who would of ever thought
As you can see I survived that day
But when at last on a cold slab I lay
And when they put that tag on my toe
It's off to the crematorium I go
Because being buried once is quite enough
I really am not all that tough
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 1:18 PM UTC
Shoved and crammed into a worm box
As he smuggle stood on top
***** I'm burying you alive"
"No one will hear your cries"
The worms wiggled around behind my back
I struggled there in the pitch black
The smell of freash earth was so overpowering
And on top he just stood there towering
I clawed at the lid
Of that old frig
But he was to heavy it did not give
My oxygen was soon depleted
I knew then I was defeated
Buried alive in a worm box
Who would of ever thought
As you can see I survived that day
But when at last on a cold slab I lay
And when they put that tag on my toe
It's off to the crematorium I go
Because being buried once is quite enough
I really am not all that tough
Jun 5, 2016
Jun 5, 2016 at 11:08 AM UTC
Oh God!
**** me!
Why do I never learn?
2:30 in the wee hours,
I am sure sales ended at 2:00.
Oh God!
I need a drink!
I yank open, slam closed
Refrigerator drawers.
I search the closet,
Maybe beneath the towels.
Just a glass of wine
With lunch
I told self.
Now the box lies
Empty, flattened
In my recycling bin.
I open every cabinet,
The frig yet again.
Nothing!
Oh God!
I need a drink!
How much have I
Metabolized?
What proof my blood?
How bad will it get?
6:00am sales resume….
I think.
I can’t go buy alcohol
At 6:00 in the morning.
I’ll be alone in the store.
Can I make it to 10:00?
How bad will it get?
Maybe breakfast at Claire’s,
****** Mary’s.
If only I could sleep!
3am. Wide awake.
**** me!
Oh God!
I need a drink!
Sep 19, 2025
Sep 19, 2025 at 8:34 PM UTC
The sunrises with powerful myth. The sky lights up as it was on fire with reds the camera can't collect.
The shopping centers still all a jam. When all I wanted was to buy some jam.
People pushing rushing like it's the end of life. Of my God there's only one more Barbie let's get into a fight.
Yesterday I begged for food. With others that have no one, no where to be for this crappie holiday you see.
Jobs were cut. Just in the nick of time. As disaster seems to cloud this world of mine.
If I was an immigrant even better to be illegal. I'd probably have a ******* pillow.
Excuses from the social worker, about vacations and not enough people to help those of us.
Here we sit 2 days before Christmas. No tree in the house and not a single gift. Ranch dressing is what's left in the frig.
I paid my power bill so I could be warm. I guess that's now a choice to be hungry or warm. This life we have is really about feeling abused and worn.
Christmas can come and be gone for all I'm concerned. There is no longer the love during the holidays. Even the churches have gone a stray.
I'll give you this loaf of bread but you must stay here and let us get inside your head. I'm hungry, don't need a sermon . I've heard them all being raised conservative almost worst than a mormon. I've prayed for changes no one answers my prayers.
This time I'm giving up. And I no longer care.
Merry Christmas to all you that have everything. ***** those of us that have lost everything.
Dec 23, 2017
Dec 23, 2017 at 10:07 AM UTC
Life is but a cinemax,let's face the facts
we travel round and round the screen and though we'd like to be a scene within the picture that's being seen,we haven't got a hope in hell.
They sell these scenes to make our dreams and any scenes we may fall in are cut and put into the bin.
The real sin lies in the lies we're told,
as the green screen folds our lives in two
and the camera crew don't give a frig, to us, the not so big that we don't matter but we could shatter all their dreams by boycotting their clapped out screens and yet we still pretend that in the end,we'll get our break,take our fifteen minutes of fame,
well,thank you all the same I'd sooner not,I'd sooner scratch the spot that's sat upon my ***
and one day anyway the day will come when we all get our moment in the spotlight of the sun
so why worry?
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 2:57 PM UTC
Buried alive in a worm box
As he smuggle stood on top
***** I'm burying you alive"
"No one will hear your cries"
The worms wiggled around behind my back
I struggled there in the pitch black
The smell of freash earth was so overpowering
And on top he just stood there towering
I clawed at the lid
Of that old frig
But he was to heavy it did not give
My oxygen was soon depleted
I knew then I was defeated
Buried alive in a worm box
Who would of ever thought
As you can see I survived that day
But when at last on a cold slab I lay
And when they put that tag on my toe
It's off to the crematorium I go
Because being buried once is quite enough
I really am not all that tough
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 9:14 PM UTC
Tomorrow you leave,
so soon!
too soon?
months of laying on couches ahead.
"Tell me about your childhood"
"How did that make you feel"
You're always quick to take blame,
when it should be at the feet
of the gameplayers,
the nay-sayers
the ones that trickle poison,
trawling their filthy twitching nets
in the hope of catching a morsel
to feed their burgeoning egos.
While they frig in hateful darkness
happily inflated by another ruined soul.
Jun 17, 2014
Jun 17, 2014 at 6:21 PM UTC
The hills are calling from my mind,
I have to act or else complain;
that my feet are sluggish ones,
that these days are way too plain.
I wash my face and grab my keys,
my sunglasses and my wide brimmed hat;
take along some water from the frig,
lean down to softly kiss the cat.
So I begin to climb the first of many hills, the morning's bright with rising sun;
I hear the footfalls of a runner,
he jogs on by, on his early run.
The blood's now racing in my aging veins,
propelling me to carry on;
I view the mountains with delight,
it's now my solitary song.
I reach the crest and I am labored,
with a quiet, sweaty tiredness;
but for my efforts, I'm rewarded,
by an inward, soul-filled happiness.
Sep 18, 2014
Sep 18, 2014 at 7:42 PM UTC
5 Newest Poems By Mario Vitale :
The Chosen
in a little while
then I shall be no more
with each tender mire
leaves across the floor,
leaves out on the parlor
coffee in the frig
a box filled with chocolates
a note telling you how to live
the willingness to forgive
Patience Until Summer
we wait for the winter chill to end
falling on the arms of a faithful friend
the willingness to be no end
shadows block the memory
each step that I take
can't be retraced
a loving satin laced
perfume amidst decadance
the shallow pools resolve
The Fragrance Of The Timberwolf
occupy til I come
a blade of grass is formed
through tyrants rant of yesterday's advance
to help you get along
strong is the tongue that sets on fire a world made torn
curse the day you were actually born
the parting sky to a faint lulabye
a reprise to be learned
another page is turned
Sweet Anabele Lee
fancy and free
the way is she
my sweet Anabele Lee
her face was slim
in place of her offering
you mad a friend
in sweet Anabele Lee
she cherished a rose
that was plucked a time before
with quaint laughter to appease
start spreading its disease
through a doorway portal fill with cobblestone
she walk alone hopeful
through Lavender hue upon her brow
a sweet delicate shawl
she dances in a ring of fire
yet throws of each challenge with a shrug
Quaint Tapestry
sweet ambiance torn red
thoughts within my head
look at the story now read
your as good as dead
filter through a song of granduer
shadows block the vortex
wallow in the midnight mire
seek a gun for hire
the twist of the hand makes you understand
May 12, 2018
May 12, 2018 at 11:29 AM UTC